


Shooting Stars

by windfallswest



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Unexplained Resurrection Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21950935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windfallswest/pseuds/windfallswest
Summary: Tatooine, fifteen-year-old Luke Skywalker thought for the millionth time, was a wasteland in every possible sense of the word.But right now he didn't care.
Relationships: Biggs Darklighter/Luke Skywalker
Kudos: 28





	Shooting Stars

**Author's Note:**

> YET MORE URF, no one is surprised. Look, the slash practically writes itself, you can barely call it _sub_ text; this whole thing was inevitable. 
> 
> Starts when Luke is fifteen and goes through ANH; vaguely tied to _The Life of Luke Skywalker_.
> 
> The canon timeline actually works out better if Luke and Biggs are closer in age than _in_ canon, so Biggs is only two years older than Luke, here. The first actual sex scene between them they are seventeen and nineteen, which I don't feel weird about.

Tatooine, fifteen-year-old Luke Skywalker thought for the millionth time, was a wasteland in every possible sense of the word. 

But right now he didn't care. 

He'd been (mostly) done with his chores when Biggs Darklighter showed up in his speeder, and it had taken about half a second for Luke to agree to join him for a ride. Their only intended destination was top speed, but after a while they'd pulled up in the shade of an overhang near the start of the unofficial race course through Beggar's Canyon. 

Lately, Luke had found that just sitting in the cockpit next to Biggs made him feel like he was going two hundred and fifty kilometres per hour. Twisting around on the bench seat, Biggs flashed him an exhilarated grin, laughing. 

Their knees bumped. Luke's whole body tensed like they were taking a sharp turn just a _little_ too fast. Biggs reached out to ruffle his hair, but somehow his fingers ended up tangled in it, and instead of ducking away, Luke's turning head brought his mouth into contact with Biggs'. 

He made a soft, surprised sound. Biggs kissed him again, like the first time hadn't been enough. Luke had to agree. 

"Wow," he breathed when he could breathe again. _I think breathing's definitely overrated._

"Yeah?" 

Biggs' grin was cocky now. Luke made a face at him but used a hand on the back of his neck to pull him in again. He braced his other hand on Biggs' shoulder and knelt up on the seat because he was still, blast it, shorter than Biggs, who was all of two years older than him and was welcome to stop growing _literally anytime now_. 

Luke's own recent growth spurt had left him awkward and gangly and _still_ somehow shorter than everyone else. Every cell in his body felt charged by this new discovery, but he still felt like he was all angles and clumsy elbows. 

Biggs looked up at him, for once, hair falling into his eyes, and a wave of heat went through Luke that had nothing to do with Tatooine's binary suns. He found himself transfixed, unable to move. 

"Three suns in the sky today," Biggs murmured nonsensically. 

Luke gave him a puzzled look. Biggs laughed and pulled him in close enough to kiss again. "You're hopeless, Skywalker." 

Luke didn't care. Biggs' hands settled at his waist, and he pressed in further as Biggs' mouth opened beneath his. Messily, their kisses deepened. Luke's arms slipped around Biggs' neck until he was almost in his lap. 

They were close to being dangerously dehydrated before they stopped. One sun was already setting, and both were down by the time they made it back to the Lars farm. Uncle Owen was going to have a fit, but Luke couldn't bring himself to feel sorry. 

Biggs stopped the speeder on the far side of a dune, the top of one vaporator visible over the crest. Luke's _why are you stopping here?_ was interrupted when Biggs leaned over to steal another kiss. Luke closed his eyes and wished this day could last forever. 

It seemed like about a million years before Uncle Owen decided he'd been grounded long enough. Even Aunt Beru came down on his side this time, although she did more fretting than growling. 

Luke did feel a little bad about worrying her, but mostly he couldn't wait to see Biggs again. At least they hadn't cut off his computer access and they could still talk. 

Biggs' parents hadn't been as mad as Luke's uncle and aunt, but they hadn't been happy. Biggs was supposed to be focussing on his educational tapes and preparing for the academy entrance exams, not out joyriding. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?" Luke asked, trying to sound casual instead of nervous. 

He and Biggs had been best friends since they were little kids, but Biggs was older, and maybe he hadn't thought Luke would understand. But he'd have known if Biggs was dating anyone. Wouldn't he? Luke ran through the older kids in the area who were now grown up and married or gone to the city. Although it wasn't like Biggs' parents ran in the same circles as the Larses. 

One side of Biggs' mouth kicked up in his trademark cocksure grin, but his image on the computer screen flushed. Always-confident Biggs. _Blushing._ Luke leaned in over the unit. 

"Well, remember I told you about the time one of my dad's business partners brought their kid with them and we got drunk on lifewater?"

"And you didn't tell me?" Luke objected, some of his vehemence undercut by the word picture. 

"I told you about getting drunk," Biggs said defensively. "You were twelve; you still though kissing was gross."

A shy smile tugged at the corners of Luke's mouth. "Twelve-year-old me apologises." 

Biggs came alert. "Not gross, then?"

"Not even a little," Luke said firmly. 

"So, have _you_ ever?"

Luke snorted. "Before yesterday? No way. Who else around here do you think is worth kissing?"

That stupid smile again. "Nobody."

Luke carried that _nobody_ around with him all the next day. Yesterday, he'd been more exhausted than he'd realised, too much water and salt baked out of him and even noticeably sunburned, which almost never happened after growing up under Tatooine's harsh binary suns and had gotten him another fifteen minutes of lecture. The sonic shower had worsened a growing headache, cut mercifully short when he collapsed directly into sleep. 

Now, he found himself lying in bed, staring up at the blank blackness of his sleeping alcove's low ceiling. All he could think about was Biggs. 

Luke was hard. He reached for himself automatically. If he was being honest, this wouldn't be the first time Biggs had turned up in his private fantasies. But like Biggs had said, it wasn't like there were all that many options around here. 

It really was more than that, though. There were other kids around it would have made more sense for either of them to hang out with, who lived nearer or were closer in age. Biggs and Luke had clicked like a switch completing a circuit, and there was no stopping the current from flowing. 

With his free hand, Luke rubbed his lips where Biggs had kissed him. They felt chapped and maybe a little tender. He couldn't stop thinking about Biggs' hands, fingers curling around Luke's hips, and how he'd wanted to push Biggs' shirt away and touch his skin. 

More than anything, he remembered the warm, soft press of Biggs' lips, slick after dipping his tongue into Luke's mouth. Luke wasn't sure they'd quite got the hang of that yet, but the sensation was laser-etched in his memory. They would have to practice more. Lots more. 

Luke groaned into his hand, his other working faster. _Biggs._

He came hard, but it was strangely unsatisfying. He wanted to see Biggs again. 

"—and put those tools away, don't just drop them and go running off," Uncle Owen added, glowering to make sure his injunctions were followed before pulling away in his landspeeder. 

Usually, Luke wouldn't miss an excuse to go into town, but he had better places to be tonight than Tosche station. He hoped. 

Doubling back to scoop a dropped microwelder out of the sand, Luke scampered over the dunes to the compound, kicking up plumes of sand in his wake. Hastily, he dumped the tools in the workshop, then bounded along the familiar, circuitous route up to his room where he'd left his computer, taking the last staircase two and three steps at a time. 

An attack of nerves ambushed Luke as he waited for Biggs at the mouth of the compound's entryway. Self-consciously, he smoothed his hair and wondered whether he ought to have jumped in the sonic shower instead of just changing his shirt. 

Too late now. Luke's lips parted as he watched Biggs' landspeeder approach at break-neck speed, tilting to follow the curving slopes of the dunes for the sheer joy of manoeuvring. 

When Biggs slewed to a showy stop in front of the pourstone dome, beaming like both suns together, Luke's mind went blank and his legs stopped working. 

"Hey back there, hotshot." 

Without waiting to see if Luke was going to start moving on his own, Biggs vaulted out of the speeder and ducked to join him in the entrance's low archway. He stopped just shy of touching Luke. 

"Hey," he said again, more softly. 

Heart hammering, Luke grabbed a double fistful of his tunic and yanked him down before he could lose his nerve, mashing their lips together. Responding with a hungry sound, Biggs pressed him into the wall. 

"Hey." Luke grinned up at him when they broke apart, his nerves of five minutes ago forgotten. "What's the big deal? You'd think you missed me or something."

Biggs gave him a playful punch in the shoulder. "What'd you go and get grounded for, anyway?"

" _Me?_ " Luke objected. "This is all _your_ fault." 

Biggs let his head fall forward to rest against Luke's. His hand was rubbing Luke's arm now, up and down, and Luke was already getting restless for more again. "Maybe I should go before I get you into any more trouble, then."

Luke wound his hands more securely in the front of his tunic. "Don't you even think about it."

"Well, then, what kind of trouble did you have in mind?" 

Everything went fine for the next two years. Then Biggs left for the academy. 

The night before he shipped out, Luke flew his landspeeder over to the Darklighter place. It was a lot bigger than the modest homestead built and maintained by generations of Larses, but Luke had more or less gotten used to it over the years. 

Biggs' room was up in the airy above-ground structure, not built into the walls of one of the sunken courtyards. The windows showed the sky. This time of year, Tatooine's night side faced the galactic fringe, dotted with a sparse sprinkling of stars; but in other seasons the far-distant galactic core made a conflagration as bright as any of Tatooine's three moons.

It made Luke think of flying out into space. Like Biggs would be doing tomorrow morning. 

He sighed and took another sip from the glass in his hand. Biggs had snagged a half-full bottle of imported Corellian whiskey from the cabinet in his father's study to celebrate the occasion. Luke had to admit, it was better than the rotgut lifewater Fixer brewed in a back room of Tosche station. It leant his thoughts a pleasant vagueness that allowed him to enjoy the moment instead of dreading tomorrow.

Biggs was sitting next to him on the couch, kissing along his collarbone, one hand already under Luke's loose tunic. He had recovered completely from the sandbat venom; Luke stripped away his shirt so he could see the wound, healed down to a pink line through a patch of bruising by the bacta treatment. 

Having set aside his own glass so he'd have both hands free, Biggs stole a drink from Luke's. Instead of swallowing, though, Biggs reached for him. 

Luke's eyes were wide as he accepted the whiskey-drenched kiss. Biggs straddled him, chasing the foreign, loamy taste through his mouth with Luke's arms around his neck. Luke was hard, and Biggs all but sitting on his trapped cock wasn't helping, or wasn't helping _enough_. Luke needed to put the glass down, to get rid of his shirt and especially their pants; but none of that was possible with Biggs docked on top of him fucking his mouth with his tongue. 

He offered Biggs the last swallow from his glass, and Biggs fed it back to him again, sending an extra rush of heat down his throat, through his stomach to his cock. Luke let the empty glass fall to the cushions beside them: one problem solved. 

With his hands free, Luke lost no time in getting them on Biggs. He slid them down the back of Biggs' trousers, encouraging the movement of his hips as he ground them together. 

Luke was so, so, so close. He bit Biggs' lower lip and then pushed him sideways onto his back on the couch. Biggs yanked him down on top. _Yeah._

About halfway through solving the pants problem, Luke realised the tube of lubricant was across the room in Biggs' bedside table. With a groan, he rolled up over the back of the couch and landed on his feet with a _thump_. If this was his last night with Biggs, he was determined to make it worth remembering. 

Luke had the lube in his hand and was just turning around when he was tackled onto the mattress. Biggs was completely naked now, and he snatched the tube away, the better to strip Luke as well. 

Luke recalled the first time they'd done this, right back there on the couch, actually. Both their hands clumsy; the thrill of knowing they wanted each other. He remembered fucking on the seat of Biggs' landspeeder, slippery with sun oil and high from doing speed runs through Beggar's Canyon. A million kisses, a million touches; Luke knew Biggs as well as he knew himself, Biggs' body better than his own. 

Of course they both wanted to leave. And Luke would never ask Biggs to give up his shot. But it was going to be so damn lonely once he was gone.

Luke found the tube again. He popped the cap and slid a slick finger between Biggs' cheeks, teasing him for a moment before pressing in. 

" _Yes,_ " Biggs said definitely, and shifted his weight so he was straddling Luke properly. 

That was a better angle for it, but Luke didn't have the patience for working him open slowly tonight. Biggs had reappropriated the lube and was already stroking it onto Luke's cock. He bent down for a kiss, creating a confused tangle of limbs Luke had no interest in unwinding. 

With more desperation than finesse, he tumbled Biggs onto his back. It took him a few tries to line himself up right and thrust in, but Biggs didn't laugh. His hands on Luke's shoulders urged him in further, closer. His knees came up for leverage. His fingers dug into Luke's back. 

Close was good. Biggs' body tight around him, familiar and strong. The scent of his arousal and taste of his sweat. His touch, but not his face. Luke didn't think he could bear to look him in the eyes. 

With every thrust, Luke felt like he was chasing after something he couldn't see and would never catch. One of Biggs' hands wound itself in his hair. Luke's gasp as he came was almost a sob. 

"Luke," Biggs moaned. He rolled them over, Luke's cock slipping out. Still in need, he rutted, breathing hotly in Luke's ear. Luke shuddered and squirmed, rough hands catching sun-baked skin until Biggs came in a hot mess all over his stomach. 

Luke wrapped his arms around Biggs in the aftermath. After a while, Biggs cupped his face, tilting it with a large, rough-skinned hand until Luke had no choice but to look at him in the dimness. 

"Hey. You'll make it; you'll see. Next year," Biggs promised him. "We're shooting stars: nothing's ever going to stop us."

Biggs had to buy time. The trench was tight; manoeuvrability was limited. Biggs thought furiously, and then before he could think better, he acted, rolling his fighter even as he flipped it end-for-end. He locked the course with one hand and hit the ejection control with the other. 

"Red Three is EVA," he reported. "Get 'em, Luke." 

The front TIE, a custom job, veered up and out of the trench before he had even finished speaking, coming dangerously close to intercepting Biggs' ejection trajectory. Its wingmates weren't so lucky: they crashed into Biggs' abandoned X-wing in a too-close explosion that knocked Biggs tumbling and almost warmed him for half a second. Biggs caught a glimpse of the TIE variant arcing back down to fix Luke in its sights. 

His heart caught in his throat. What if he'd made the wrong decision? What if it hadn't been enough? But he'd have been flash-frozen shrapnel along with his ship with nothing to show for it, and Luke would have three fighters on his tail instead of one.

Then, suddenly, the last TIE was spinning away, its pilot losing the same battle with its controls Biggs was with his ejection seat's. A piercing whoop cut through his helmet com, followed by a familiar voice. "Hold still, Red Three; I'm going to try something." 

"Wedge? Oh, kriff, didn't you lose manoeuvring control?" Biggs objected, looking around and yanking on the port stabiliser jet again.

"This fix should hold long enough for me to hook you," Wedge reassured him, not all that reassuringly. "Try to keep it level..." 

"Me or you?" Biggs asked, just as they heard over the com, "Torpedos away." 

Wedge's X-wing was looming up abaft him to port; those laser canon on the end of the S-foils looked even bigger from this perspective than they did from the ground. Biggs left off with the jets and waved his arms at Wedge. 

"What are you doing, laserbrain? Leave me and get out of here!" 

"That's right; grab on," Wedge encouraged him cheerily. 

The fighter kept edging closer. Well, if he grabbed it himself, he was less likely to be impaled when Wedge's hydraulics fritzed out again. Anyway, anything to get them out of here faster. 

Luke's X-wing was already streaking away. Hugging Wedge's starboard upper laser canon for dear life, Biggs watched in slack-jawed amazement as the gargantuan sphere of the Death Star warmed from a leaden grey to smokey orange to incandescent plasma. The shock wave hit them just after Wedge started accelerating, carrying with it a spray of shrapnel and superheated debris. 

"That was so hot." Biggs felt lightheaded. It wasn't until his breath started fogging up the inside of his helmet that it occurred to him it might be from anything other than overpowering relief. 

"Biggs?" someone was calling him over the com. 

Biggs couldn't have let go of the canon to do a visual check even if he could still see or move his limbs, but his trusty academy training piped up to tell him what must have happened. There was no way to tell whether it had been in the small explosion of the fighters or the enormous explosion of the battle station, but in all that debris he'd been pelted with, something must have compromised the integrity of his flight suit, which only had rudimentary emergency seals an no real armour. 

"Biggs!" An even more familiar voice joined the first.

Behind his frosted faceplate, Biggs' lips twitched in a weak smile. "Shooting...stars," he mumbled, then lost consciousness. 

Luke popped the X-wing's cockpit and scrambled down the ladder almost before it was in position. A cheering crowd rushed towards him across the hangar; Princess Leia caught him in an exuberant hug, all her businesslike attitude and royal composure forgotten. 

Luke squeezed her back, heart hammering in his throat as he fought his way through the crush to where he'd seen the Imperial shuttle land. _C'mon, Biggs..._

"Watch out, let him through!" someone bellowed behind from behind them. Catching them up, Han tousled his hair as Chewie cleared a path. "Go on, lover-boy," Han told him, giving him a shove between the shoulders towards where the shuttle's hatch was already open and disgorging a hovering gurney and an Imperial officer. 

"Where's the infirmary on this base?" It was the same voice and unexpected Tatooine accent Luke had heard over the coms after the Death Star exploded, shouting at Wedge, _I'm a doctor, this is a medical shuttle. Use some of those hotshot moves to get him to our airlock and we might be able to save him._

Beside Luke, Leia stiffened. "Doctor Uli?" 

The officer glanced up over his shoulder. He was middle-aged, with greying blond hair and lines of tension etched into his face. "Princess. I...finally found my chance." 

Their eyes met, and something seemed to pass between them. Leia nodded. 

"It's all right," she told the hovering Rebel guards. Then, to the officer, "This way."

Luke kept pace on the opposite side of the gurney. There was an oxy mask covering Biggs' face and bacta pouches over his hands; an emergency blanket covered the rest of him. Luke searched his face for any sign of returning consciousness. 

"How is he? Is he going to be okay?" 

"Hard to say, kid. Depends on how long he was hypoxic. We'll get him in a bacta tank—if this ruin has a bacta tank—and keep pumping O2 into him, but we won't really know until he wakes up." 

"Well, when will that be?" 

Doctor Uli—definitely from Tatooine, Luke thought—spared him a glance. "Close friend?"

"We're—" Luke's throat closed around feelings he didn't have words for. 

A hint of sympathy softened the doctor's focus. "I'll do my best." 

Then they were at the infirmary, and one of the Rebel doctors was shouldering Luke out of the way, a tall woman with white hair and brown skin whose eyes darted quickly between Biggs on the gurney, Uli in his Imperial uniform, and Leia's supervising presence. Again, Leia nodded. With one last uncertain glance at the Imperial, the Rebel doctor turned her attention back to Biggs. 

Luke watched them manoeuvre Biggs' gurney over between a bank of instruments and a bacta tank. He stood off to one side, as close as he could get without being scolded by the doctors. One of the tanks was already occupied, but most of the beds were empty. The battle had never touched the ground, and the fighter pilots had almost all either died in space or come back in one piece. _Almost all._

Biggs was still limp as they stripped his clothes away. Beneath the lingering desert tan, his skin had a disturbing, unhealthy pallor. A medical droid came over to attach an array of sensor leads while the Rebel doctor replaced the breathing mask with one connected to the bacta tank. 

Luke turned his head, unable to watch any longer. Leia, still by his side, was giving him a curious look. 

"What?" 

Princess or not, she seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring. She grimaced, hesitated, then finally asked, "How do you know him?" 

Luke's eyes were drawn, inevitably, back to where the doctors were finishing prepping Biggs. They transferred him to a scaffolded platform that rose and then lowered into the thick, greenish liquid

"We grew up together, me and Biggs. Until he left for the Academy a couple years ago... The last time I saw him, just before all this started. He talked about the Rebellion. I didn't really think I was ever going to see him again. Until a few days ago, I never thought I'd actually make it off Tatooine..." 

Luke's throat was closing up on him again. An injured Rebel limped through the door, another pilot by the orange flightsuit, and Luke and Leia moved to make way for the raucous crowd that came through supporting him. Leia drew him towards the opposite row of beds, where they were less likely to be noticed. 

"I didn't know," Leia said softly. They had ended up next to a bed occupied by a sleeping human whose skin was covered with fading red lesions everywhere but his left arm; there was an empty space under the bedsheet where the bottom half of his right leg should have been. "I know Doctor Lands; she's been with the Rebellion since the beginning. She'll do everything she can." 

"What about the guy from the shuttle? It seemed like you recognised him. Is he a spy?"

"No," Leia said in a weirdly flat voice. "He was on the Death Star." 

Luke frowned. She hadn't seemed injured during that hectic race to escape, but... "Were you hurt when they captured—"

"No," Leia said shortly. 

Finally jarred out of his own gnawing worries, Luke took a closer look and saw with alarm that her jaw was clenched; her skin tone was almost as bad as Biggs'. 

"Hey, he didn't—" 

"Not him." 

Even Luke wasn't stupid enough to keep blundering on into a sarlacc pit. He shifted awkwardly, not knowing what to say. Luke was reminded again that she was a princess and he was just a moisture farmer. But she had to be feeling a lot like he was feeling right now: her family had been killed; her home was gone. At least Biggs still had a shot; did Leia have anybody left at all? 

She'd have him, he decided. For whatever that was worth. Already, Luke could tell she wasn't the easiest person to get close to. 

Tentatively, he rested a hand on Leia's shoulder. Her smile was strained, but she exhaled a deep breath, and some of the haunted distance faded from her eyes, replaced with simple fatigue. 

Then the doctors stopped messing around with the bacta tank controls and headed over. It was Luke's turn to tense up. 

"Hey, doc, is that Biggs Darklighter you just dunked? What happened to him?"

Luke's head snapped around. The medical bed's occupant had evidently woken up. He propped himself up on one elbow and craned his neck to get a better look at the bacta tanks. 

The Rebel doctor—Lands, Leia had said her name was—tucked a strand of pale hair behind her ear and, maddeningly, leaned in to check some kind of readout attached to the injured man's bedside. "Hobbie, good of you to join us. How are you feeling?"

"How's Biggs?" Luke interrupted impatiently. 

Dr Lands made a pacifying gesture that missed its mark and finished whatever it was she was doing before answering. "Stable, and he's responding well to the bacta treatment. Physically, I'd say he's going to be okay." 

Luke almost collapsed with relief. "Is he awake at all? How long is he going to be in there?" 

"If you're unconscious when you go into the tank, we keep you sedated while you're dunked; otherwise people tend to panic. A standard day should do it, though; and then we'll be able to test his cognitive functions."

"So long?" Luke heard the unattractive whine but couldn't help it. It had been a slow leak in Biggs' suit, he told himself. They'd got him into the shuttle quickly. There hadn't been enough time for brain damage. In another day, Biggs would come out of the tank, he'd wake up, and everything would be fine. 

Dr Lands gave him a sympathetic look. "Kid—I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." 

"Luke." 

"Luke. My best advice is to go to your bunk and get some shuteye. You can come back tomorrow and sit with him if you want, but you won't do him any good running yourself into the ground." 

"I'll be okay," Luke lied vaguely. 

Dr Lands raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but moved off the check on the other pilot, currently being examined by a 21B droid. The injured man she'd called Hobbie was eyeing him with curiosity. 

"So you're Biggs' guy on Tatooine." 

"You know Biggs?" 

Leia touched his shoulder and asked in a low voice, "Will you be all right if I leave you here for a while?" 

"Huh? Oh, sure. Hey," Luke said as she was turning to leave, "let me know if you need anything, okay?"

Leia's smile looked regal and gracious, like something she'd practised; but Luke could see the same grief and crushing weariness he felt bleeding through. Her small hand squeezed his arm, then released him, and she went over to talk with the other pilot for a moment before disappearing out the infirmary door. Luke turned back to Hobbie. 

"So when did you get here? And what happened to Biggs?" 

Luke was, he decided, way too tired for the entire story just now. "I got caught up in the mess back on Tatooine when the princess's ship was damaged; we ended up here just in time for all the excitement. Biggs had to ditch, but his suit was torn." Luke swallowed. "He saved my life."

Hobbie shook his head. "Yeah, Biggs would never shut up about you, ever since the academy."

"You're a pilot, too?"

"As soon as they get this kriffing rash under control enough to replace my leg." A grimace. "If I keep losing parts at this rate, I'll be a brain in an orange jar plugged into the flight computer. I'll tell you, with luck like this it's a good thing I'm not flying TIEs after all." 

Han and Chewie had had to drag him away for the medal ceremony. Luke figured it was the longest night of his life about three times over, because it had actually been midmorning local time when they engaged the Death Star. 

He'd sat his useless vigil while, outside the infirmary, the whole Rebel base had been a-bustle again, preparing not for another battle but some kind of huge party. It was hard to stay down when you were surrounded by cheering crowds, but Luke kept feeling like Biggs should have been there. His name had been called in the second round, after Wedge's and the couple surviving Y-wing pilots'. 

Wedge had looked elated but also stunned. Luke had overheard him reciting the names of pilot after downed pilot to Hobbie in the infirmary. He'd showed up a couple times with food for both of them, although for the life of him Luke couldn't have said what meal it was. Hobbie had wheedled Wedge into recounting the events of the battle Hobbie had missed. 

Luke remembered explosion on top of explosion, voices going silent. He'd distanced himself from the two squadron mates, stomach still too tied up in knots for him to have much of an appetite; but he drank automatically. On Tatooine, you never passed up a drink. 

Wedge, who had saved Biggs' life, not to mention Luke's, had also shown him where Biggs had been bunking and tentatively suggested Luke might want to get some sleep. There were plenty of open beds, a stack of duffels and hover crates piled in a corner bearing mute witness to where the former occupants' gear had been hastily packed up but not yet cleared out. Luke had shrugged him off, and Wedge hadn't pushed. 

The infirmary got quieter and quieter during the night. Dr Lands turned the lights down, and the overlay of technology that had been grafted onto the ancient ziggurat seemed to recede, the massive cut-stone architecture unsettling and dark. The air here on Yavin was so heavy with water, Luke felt like he was swimming in liquid as much as Biggs in his bacta tank. 

"Rise and shine, hotshot." 

Luke's eyes snapped open as he jerked awake. There was a dizzy, disoriented moment while his foggy brain tried to figure out where he was and how he'd got there. He was lying on one of the medical beds, but his last memory had been sitting in a chair, watching the bacta tank where...

"Biggs!" 

Luke tried to leap upright from a prone position and his back spasmed. Ohhh, maybe that hadn't been a good idea. 

Looking up, Luke blinked the room into focus. Biggs leaned in over him. Luke reached up to touch his face, just to be sure he wasn't hallucinating; but Biggs caught his hand and hauled him upright. 

"Are you all right?" Luke asked urgently, searching his face. 

"Better than you, by the looks of things." Biggs grinned crookedly down at him. He still looked a little pasty, but he was awake and talking. 

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Biggs' grin widened. Luke turned to Dr Lands. "How is he?" 

"Everything checks out. I was just telling him he's free to take you and get out of here. See if you can't get him to eat something, then put him to bed." This last to Biggs. 

He came to attention despite the thin hospital clothes he wore and saluted sharply, a bright gleam in his eye. "Aye aye, sir. Come on, hotshot. Let's see if we can scare up a victory banquet." 

Luke tried to object that _Biggs_ was the one who needed taken care of, but they both ignored him as Biggs pulled him to his feet and propelled him towards the door with an arm around his shoulder. Hobbie waved them cheerfully on. The rash was almost gone, but he was still missing his leg. 

"Would you quit that and eat?" Biggs reached over and popped a piece of strange fruit into Luke's mouth. 

Biggs was eating ravenously after a day in the bacta tank. Luke kept getting distracted watching him, breaking into a silly, relieved smile. 

Luke bit off the stem of the unidentified tart fruit and chewed, joy undimmed. "Hey, sorry. I was so worried there, I forgot what a pain in the ass you can be." 

Biggs set down his caf to affect a wounded expression. "I resent that. I am _very gentle_ with your—" 

"Hi, Leia," Luke interrupted in a strangled tone. 

Leia rested her hand on his shoulder briefly. A tired smile curved her lips, although the arch of her eyebrow hinted that maybe he hadn't cut Biggs off quite soon enough. 

"I stopped by the infirmary to check on you two, but you'd already left. I'm glad your friend is all right." 

"Uh, thank you, your highness," Biggs said a little stiffly, eyes wide. Without looking, he nudged Luke with his elbow. _What the hell is going on?_

"Oh!" Luke exclaimed, surprised. "Do you two not know each other? Your Highness, this is Biggs Darklighter, the best pilot on Tatooine."

"About time you admitted it," Biggs couldn't resist saying. He looked between Leia and Luke. "I understand I have you to thank for getting this guy here." 

Luke grinned. Leia tilted her head judiciously. "Only partially. I'm sure Luke will fill you in on the details." 

"Hey, who busted who out of an Imperial detention block?" Luke couldn't help pointing out. 

"With no exit strategy," Leia countered. "Speaking of which, I'll let you boys finish your lunch. Rest up while you can; I doubt this lull will last long." 

Biggs watched her stride away in wonder, then turned back to Luke. "Well, you two seemed awfully chummy." 

Luke rolled his eyes. "A lot's happened," he said more seriously. "There's so much I have to tell you. I—" 

Luke's sentence was interrupted by a jaw-cracking yawn. A second turned his apology into a smeared, not altogether un-Wookie-like sound. 

Biggs set his utensils down and stood up. "Okay, that's it. Time to put you to bed." 

"I'm not tired," Luke objected around another yawn. 

But he didn't resist when Biggs marched him off to the quarters Luke had seen before. Biggs' hand migrated from between his shoulders to around his waist as they navigated the maze of stone block hallways. Luke leaned into him, eyes drifting closed. 

He woke up to a familiar underground sort of dark and Biggs wrapped around him from behind. Closing his eyes again because there was nothing to see, Luke exhaled and tried not to think about anything that had happened in the past week. 

Biggs shifted, nose stirring Luke's hair. "You need a shower," he mumbled sleepily. 

"You still smell like bacta," Luke told him. 

"Both it is." Biggs sighed and, after a reluctant moment, levered himself up. 

Luke rolled out of the narrow bed after him. It turned out to be the dead of night, and they encountered only one tired Rebel heading back to their bunk after a late shift. The communal showers were deserted. It was a far cry from Biggs' private fresher in his parents' place back on Tatooine, but they still managed to wash each others' backs. 

"You still haven't told me how you ended up here, in train to royalty, no less," Biggs said, sliding his hands over Luke's sides in a way that had very little to do with scrubbing and turning him by the hips. 

"It's wild; you'll never believe half of it." 

"Wish I'd been there," Biggs murmured over the patter of falling water, lips brushing Luke's skin. 

"Too bad you couldn't have stuck around another day," Luke agreed. 

Luke was desperately grateful to have a touchstone of familiarity in a strange place. Jedi and smugglers, princesses and Death Stars, he barely knew where to start. 

Their lips met in a kiss that felt like coming home. Biggs wobbled, and Luke jumped to steady him on the slippery floor. 

"You should be resting." Luke frowned. 

Biggs kissed him again, more insistently. "Live a little, Skywalker." 

"I'm serious!" 

"You're always serious," Biggs pointed out reasonably. He bit Luke's pouting lower lip. "For example, you seriously deserve a blowjob for that shot. Hot damn."

Luke wavered. Biggs trailed a hand down the centre of his chest. It palmed Luke's cock against his stomach, drawing a helpless little sound from him. Biggs sank to his knees.

Luke reached for him, half to restrain Biggs (futile), half to steady himself. Luke experienced a helpless flush of desire atop the bubbling relief he still felt. 

"Couldn't have made it without you," he said breathlessly. "You saved my tail." 

Biggs' teeth flashed in a grin. " 'Course I did. I've got a vested interest in it, after all." 

"Among other things," Luke gasped as Biggs' tongue swiped across the head of his cock. 

Biggs gave him a mischievous look from under raised eyebrows, then got down to business. Luke moaned, loudly. Embarrassed, he clapped a hand over his mouth. They might have been alone, but this wasn't exactly private. 

Biggs had to pull off to snicker at him, like it wasn't _his_ fault in the first place. But by the time Luke had unsmothered himself to heckle, Biggs had replaced his mouth and Luke was back to being nonverbal again. 

He did his best to muffle the involuntary sounds he made as his cock hit the back of Biggs' throat and Biggs swallowed around him. Kriff, he wasn't playing around. Luke tried to breath without moaning. Rivulets of water from the shower's spray ran all over him like a thousand touches. 

Biggs' hands on his ass were more substantial. As slippery as the floor was, Luke hardly dared to thrust. He could only stand there on trembling legs, breathing shallowly into his damp palm, while Biggs sucked and swallowed and swirled his tongue. 

Luke's head tipped back, his eyes squeezing shut. The hand he'd clamped over his mouth kept too much water from going up his nose, either. His other one gripped Biggs' shoulder too tightly as orgasm overbalanced him. Biggs gasped, pulling off, the continued spray from the shower washing away splashes of come almost as soon as they hit his face and neck. 

Biggs already had a hand on himself by the time Luke had recovered enough to focus on more than staying upright. He was biting his cheek to keep quiet. Luke smoothed the hair plastered to his forehead out of his face. 

Biggs blinked at him through the water. He turned into Luke's palm cupping his face, muffling a shout as he came. 

It wasn't until he'd helped Biggs to his feet and they'd turned the water off that Luke realised he was still shaking. He fumbled with the towel as he was drying off, trying not to drop it. 

Biggs looked at him in concern. "Hey, you all right?" 

Opening his mouth to speak, Luke found he couldn't get the words out. It was all too much all of a sudden. 

With Biggs' help, he managed to get dressed enough for the trip back down the hall. The anchoring grip of Biggs' hand in his felt like about the only thing holding him together, and Luke returned it convulsively. 

Biggs made him sit down on the bed when they got back to their quarters. Luke pulled him along after, unwilling to let go. 

"What is it, Luke?" Alarm had edged out Biggs' usual air of cocksure mischief. He looked half ready to drag Luke back to the infirmary. 

"Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are dead." The words spilled from his mouth, and he could see the real shock in Biggs' eyes. 

"Luke..." 

The story came out in a jumble that probably didn't make any sense at all: stormtroopers hunting down the Death Star plans and following the droids carrying them to his home, slaughtering everyone in their path, including Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen, his only family. Old Ben Kenobi had been a Jedi, and so had Luke's father, and maybe so was Luke. The chaos of the Death Star. 

And then... "And I guess you know the rest," Luke finished lamely. 

Biggs boggled at him, shared grief and astonishment written across his face. His mouth flapped open and closed, then open again. "I was already with the Rebellion the last time we saw each other," he blurted. 

"Yeah, I figured when I saw you here," Luke said after a blank moment. 

"Hobbie—you met Hobbie in the infirmary, right?—we went through the academy together, and even then we realised there was some nasty business going on. We deserted from our first posting, with a little help—took the whole ship with us, actually, cargo and all." Biggs shook his head. "Damn, but you weren't kidding about just one more day. I was on Tatooine trying to convince my dad to support the cause. I wish..." 

"Me, too." Biggs was still holding his hand, and Luke squeezed it. "I don't know, Biggs. How am I supposed to learn how to be a Jedi on my own? It sounds so crazy, but I've felt things... I just don't know what to do."

Resting his other hand on the back of Luke's neck, Biggs brought their foreheads together. "Jedi or not, the Rebellion needs you. And I've got your back, no matter what." 

"Shooting stars." Luke twitched a weak half smile. 

"Nothing's ever going to stop us," Biggs confirmed. He gave Luke a serious kiss. "Now get some sleep, Jedi mine."


End file.
